


to be a king beside you

by dramaturgicallycorrect



Series: all my favorite conversations [5]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Politics, M/M, Mentions of homophobia, West Wing AU, what a feeling au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-20
Updated: 2015-12-20
Packaged: 2018-05-08 00:42:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5476604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dramaturgicallycorrect/pseuds/dramaturgicallycorrect
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>He’s beautiful, he’s got a bright open face, clear eyes, a contagious smile. Louis reminds himself that on the night of the Kennedy-Nixon debate, those who listened to the radio thought Nixon won, but those who watched it on television thought Kennedy won. How a candidate looks does have some credence, like it or not. So that’s the only reason Louis studies his features so closely.</i>
</p><p>  <i>Beyond that, Harry is just good. He rises from his folding chair and shakes the hand of every person in the room, his warm smiles provoking some in return from people who have probably never greeted a politician warmly in their lives. That’s step one, getting them to like you. But getting people to trust you, that’s a whole different ballgame. Eventually, they’ll go home, they’ll forget his face. They’ll remember his age before they remember his words. He needs credibility.</i></p><p>  <i>With a few gentle prods in the right direction, Harry Styles could be formidable. Harry Styles could go all the way.</i><br/> </p><p>[Or Louis is the Kingmaker and he’s going to make Harry a king.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	to be a king beside you

**Author's Note:**

  * For [colourexplosion](https://archiveofourown.org/users/colourexplosion/gifts).



> This is for Jessi, who I trust with my fics before anyone else and who never steers me wrong. This is the West Wing AU I've been threatening to write for her for probably a year now, and now I've finally followed through.
> 
> As always, you don't have to know anything about the West Wing in order to read this. 
> 
> This is part of a series of Christmas present fics (...loosely) based on songs from Made in the AM.

They call him the Kingmaker.

Louis personally finds it hilarious, but he’s not going to tell anyone that. Not when it makes him sound formidable. Louis Tomlinson, The Kingmaker.

It also makes the job sound much more dramatic because more often than not he’s not so much making kings as he is wrangling them. The President-Elect takes a lot of wrangling -- maybe if he let the good people of America know exactly how big a pain in the ass he is, they wouldn’t have elected him. That wouldn’t have worked and Louis knows it because anyone who spends more than a few minutes with Harry’s attention directed at them and them alone falls a little in love with him. Louis’ had a lot of Harry’s attention directed at him over the last eight years.

Louis has banished himself from the residence where Harry’s getting ready, no doubt causing more trouble than he’s worth. Louis stress chews his thumb, the rest of his fingers clenched tightly around the remote. He paces in his office, threatening to wear out a familiar path in the carpet before he even officially takes office. Today needs to be perfect.

The talking heads on television are speculating who the President-Elect will take his first dance with. It’s his mother; Louis has already sewn that up, gotten Anne a nice dress from Vera Wang. They’ve spent weeks already speculating whether he’ll pick a guy to share his dance with like it’s a fucking novelty. As if Louis would let him do that anyway. It’ll be his mother, followed by his sister -- it’ll be sweet, folksy, family-oriented. Just another reason why Harry Styles has won over the country.

He doesn’t let himself entertain the thought that he wants to be the second person Harry dances with. He’s in control of everything now -- as chief of staff, he’s all but running the country. But that doesn’t mean he gets everything he wants.

“You ready to go?” Liam asks, his head popping around Louis’ door.

“Yeah,” Louis says and grabs his coat.

Louis doesn’t think there will come a day he isn’t humbled to walk to the halls of the White House, whether or not he’s serving at the pleasure of the President. It still makes his palms sweat, makes his heart beat that much faster.

“Doing good?” Liam asks.

“Yeah. Just… we did it. You know?” Louis says, swallowing hard to combat his dry throat. “You and me.”

“And the President-Elect. And a couple hundred other people.”

“Right, of course. But also we did it. Sometimes I forget we’ve even done this, which I can’t even believe, because I spend all hours of my day thinking about Harry,” he says stupidly, before trying to recover. “As president. And the things he’ll do for this country.”

“I think about that too,” Liam says, noble enough not to call him on his shitty attempt to backpedal. “The two of you together. You’ll do great things. You’re the dream team.”

Louis shudders, not for the first time, at the sheer scope of responsibility he’s agreed to undertake as Harry’s chief of staff, his right hand man. He’s not only got the weight of the entire country on his shoulders, but all of American history. He’s one in a long line of men and women who have led this country and served their president faithfully -- with varying degrees of overall success -- and he’s not going to be the one to fuck it all up.

He was a wildcard choice, Louis’ not an idiot. He knows how many closed door meetings Harry had with the DNC about his cabinet, and how many of those meetings were specifically about not putting Louis on it. But Harry fought for him every inch of the way. Louis’d really never considered a career as an actual politician before Harry approached him -- he’d always been much better about telling people how to say the right thing instead of saying the right thing himself.

Louis knows the issues better than anyone else, he’s glad-handed 94% of Capitol Hill, gotten more than his fair share elected personally. He tries to tell himself every day he’s got a mountain of credentials, even though he’s heard all of that means nothing the first day on the job when they lay the entire free world at your feet and tell you to go do something with it.

He knows he can do it because there are people who say he can’t. He knows he can do it because Harry says he can.

On the campaign trail, Louis fought for Harry like he was fighting for his own life, and he’d continue to do so. Because he believed in him. From the moment he saw Harry, he knew his potential. They’ve fought together for years on the two biggest campaigns of both of their lives, giving up everything else but the job, becoming everything to each other in order to win.

He supposes the job is the least Harry could do to repay him, considering he made Harry a king. Well. President.

\---

He's late and he's never late. He's heard the worst of Los Angeles traffic, but nobody said shit about Sacramento traffic. He stomps through City Hall, his footsteps echoing angry in the empty corridors. He’s going to be sweaty and out of breath by the time he meets the candidate. That’s not exactly Louis’ favorite first impression.

Liam, the only useful member of the California chapter of the DNC, sent him a message a few days ago. He’s gotta go see this kid out here, Harry Styles, a thirty-year-old who has the nerve to run for governor of California with an aggressively liberal agenda and absolutely no chance of ever getting elected.

Except that against all odds, he’s second in the polls, nipping at the heels of the moderate -- borderline centrist, if Louis is going to be honest -- Democrat currently leading the pack. Liam said the kid’s got a real chance, if only he had a strong, experienced guiding hand.

He bursts into the fireside chat he’s holding with representatives from the transportation union in the auditorium, the door banging so loud in interruption that Louis’ considering walking right back out and forgetting the whole fucking thing.

“Sorry,” Louis says to all eighteen eyes turned to him. It’s a collection of rough-looking men and women, their postures in their folding chairs mixing between no nonsense strength and complete disinterest. They’re all turned toward the candidate, a lean man with curling brown hair down past his shoulders who’s leaned casually forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

Harry looks up at him with a kind smile and says, “No problem. Please join us.”

Louis watches him go from the back row, making idle notes in his notebook. _Talks slow. Watch the ums. Reaction time needs to be faster. Slouching. Nervous ticks: hair tousling, lip pulling, ring fiddling. Tattoos?? Hair cut hair cut hair cut._

It’s a tough room, brutal, honestly. He can tell the representatives don’t respect him, but his points are valid. He speaks with brisk passion only when he’s on one of his speeches. He listens very carefully to any and all objections from his audience, and responds with thoughtful if not glacially slow responses.

By the end of it, he’s got them charmed, and Louis understands why he’s second in the polls. There’s something easy about him, something that draws you in, despite your best efforts.

He’s beautiful, he’s got a bright open face, clear eyes, a contagious smile. Louis reminds himself that on the night of the Kennedy-Nixon debate, those who listened to the radio thought Nixon won, but those who watched it on television thought Kennedy won. How a candidate looks does have some credence, like it or not. So that’s the only reason Louis studies his features so closely.

Beyond that, Harry is just good. He rises from his folding chair and shakes the hand of every person in the room, his warm smiles provoking some in return from people who have probably never greeted a politician warmly in their lives. That’s step one, getting them to like you. But getting people to _trust_ you, that’s a whole different ballgame. Eventually, they’ll go home, they’ll forget his face. They’ll remember his age before they remember his words. He needs credibility.

With a few gentle prods in the right direction, Harry Styles could be formidable. Harry Styles could go all the way.

“Hi, thanks for coming. I’m Harry, in case you missed it,” he says, finally turning that million dollar smile on him when they're the last two people in the room. Louis’ nearly shell shocked with it before he regains his composure.

“I know who you are, councilman. Liam Payne from the DNC sent me to see you,” he says, approving of the way Harry’s face lights up at the mention of Liam’s name. “I’m Louis Tomlinson.”

He waits for a flicker of recognition in Harry’s eyes befitting Louis’ reputation, but there isn’t one. He does lean forward, though, and places one of his big, warm hands on Louis’ arm. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“I'm a campaign manager,” Louis says. Harry makes a little _ah_ face and nods, but Louis can tell he still doesn't get it. “You can google me later. Quite the speech you gave.”

Harry hems and haws bashfully, insists it wasn’t so much a speech as it was something he meant from the heart. Louis just stares at him as he tries to bullshit the leader of all bullshitters, turning his earnest expression and passionate gesticulations on Louis. Harry plays the part well.

“Have you put any thought into where your campaign is headed, councilman?” Louis asks, sensing his opportunity. Harry’s got ambition and if he’s smart, he’ll jump on it.

“Just Harry, please.”

“No,” Louis says.

Harry’s eyebrows quirk up in confusion. “I beg your pardon?”

“You can’t do that. You’ve campaigned for a title, you’ve fought for a title, and a prestigious one at that. You accept it, you own it. People call you councilman, and you need to be worthy of the name.”

Harry draws up from his casual slouch to his full height, and Louis’ glad to see something catches his interest enough to break out of his lazy stance and pay attention.

“The kind of campaign I’m running, I’m not looking to separate myself from the people,” Harry says, his voice going a little faster, stronger, once he’s got something to sink his teeth into. “I’m their servant, I work for them. There’s no hierarchy where I come out on top.”

“That sounds lovely, sir,” Louis says, and he means it, “but unfortunately, the kind of campaign you’re running isn’t a winning one.”

It’s a bold statement, Louis knows. He can see it doesn’t land well by the tight set of Harry’s jaw. Some people respond well to the bluntness, it connects with something competitive within them and Louis can spur them to prove him wrong, even if it’s just out of spite. It doesn’t work with Harry.

“Then I guess I don’t deserve to win. Thanks, though,” Harry says, shaking Louis’ hand like he’s a fucking constituent. “Have a good evening.”

Louis stares dumbly at him before he turns on his heel and leaves, throwing a “Good luck, councilman” over his shoulder. What a waste.

\--

“How’d it go?” Liam calls as soon as he hears the door shut. His voice echoes like he’s in the kitchen and Louis follows it there, tossing Liam’s spare keys on the kitchen table. Liam’s washing the dishes, but he taps off the water when Louis leans onto the counter next to him and shakes his head. “Was he that bad?”

“Oh no. No, he turned _me_ down. The literal nerve.”

Liam frowns at him, his head tilted like he’s confused.  “Are you sure?”

“Yes, Liam, he shook my hand and told me to have a good evening.”

“He’ll say yes in the end,” Liam says, nodding vigorously. “I’m sure of it. You’re the Kingmaker.”

“I’m not working on someone’s campaign who doesn’t want me. I choose my candidates, that’s how it’s always been.”

“Fine,” Liam says, but in that way he does when he’s tired of arguing of Louis and he’s just willing to let it go, conceding Louis the victory. That’s worse than Liam winning the argument.

“What,” Louis prompts. “Spit it out.”

“He’s our best chance. He’ll revolutionize the state. The kid’s got ideas, Louis.”

“Kid? You’re maybe a year older than him.”

“You know what I mean,” Liam sighs.

“I do, and that’s part of the problem. When is everyone going to stop looking at him as the kid? He’s thirty and he’s running for governor. We have to stop looking at him as only young blood, as the new kid in town. We have to start thinking of him as a game changer. He’s not an _option_. He’s necessary. He’s the future.”

Liam grins, there’s something smug in it. It looks terrible on him. “You liked him.”

Louis makes a face. “He’s fine.”

“No, you liked him. And that’s why you’re pissed he doesn’t want to work with you. You want to work with him.”

“If he seeks me out, I’ll say yes,” Louis says, because he’s a benevolent kingmaker. “But I’m not going to chase him. He better come to my front door and offer me the job.”

The doorbell rings and Louis eyes Liam. “You expecting anyone?”

“Noooo,” Liam says slowly, but he grabs a dish towel anyway to dry his hands.

“I got it.” Louis waves him off and goes for the door.

"The hair will have to go," he says as soon as he sees it's Harry on the other side of the door, standing with his hands folded behind his back, looking far too casual.

Harry pauses. "I beg your pardon?"

"If I'm taking you on, you have to cut your hair. It's absurd."

"I'm not cutting my hair," he says blandly. "Also what?"

"I assume you came here to hire me."

"No, I came to seduce you,” Harry says easily. “But I guess we can talk work first."

Louis blinks at him. "Also no more jokes like that."

"Wasn't a joke."

Louis appraises him and figures Harry’s dark look could be something closer to hunger than a fierce desire to run a good political campaign. It’s dangerous. Louis likes a bit of danger, but not in this instance. Not when he’s so close to saying yes.

He can't say yes -- he can work with a gay candidate all the live long day, but under no circumstances can he out him. That's what it would be, outing him. He thinks back on Liam's long dossier on Harry, not a single mention of his sexual orientation.

“I don't sleep with my candidates,” Louis says instead.

“I could be your candidate tomorrow,” Harry says with a grin, clearly pleased at the joke.

“Councilman.”

“That one was a joke,” Harry concedes. “Maybe let me in before we talk campaign strategy?”

“No, I’m comfortable here,” Louis says, leaning against the doorframe to illustrate just that. “You changed your mind?”

“I like you. I trust you,” Harry says. He runs a hand through his hair to pull it away from his face, even though it wasn’t really hanging in it to begin with. Nervous tick. “And I want to win.”

Louis respects that. That’s the right fucking answer.

“If you’re going to work with me, you have to understand a few things. Passion is good, but it’s not good enough. Drive is good, having the right answers is good,” Louis says. “But all of that means nothing if no one’s listening to you. And nobody’s going to listen to you if they don’t take you seriously, if they don’t respect you.”

“I understand,” Harry says, nodding seriously.

Louis has one last test, one all of his candidates must pass, or he won't allow himself to be hired.

“Why do you want this?”

Harry’s eyebrows work into an unsure frown. “What?”

“Tell me why you want to be governor of the great state of California.”

Harry watches him for a few moments. Louis can see that sharp wit working behind his eyes, another reason why Louis’ sure he can make something of him. But he’s gotta know why Harry wants it.

Harry starts his stump speech and Louis waves him off quickly. “Heard it. Tell me something I don’t know.”

Harry shrugs like that’s fair enough, and about thirty seconds into the real answer, Louis is sold. From anyone else’s mouth, an impassioned speech about the importance of government, about a kid’s struggle to be accepted, to make a difference, would sound like a load of shit. But not with Harry Styles.

“Good,” Louis says at the end of it. “I’m hired.”

\--

Louis stands at the platform at back of the ballroom, leaning over the railing and surveying the work he’s done, the empire he’s helped create. There are hundreds of people below, all of whom are nearly as fiercely dedicated to the campaign as Louis is. Nearly.

Louis wonders if the second he stops moving, he’s going to collapse from exhaustion. It’s been a whirlwind year, from the second he stepped onto Harry’s campaign, through the primaries, all the way up to election night. It’s the nature of his business to go nonstop, to dedicate more than his fair share of working hours to the candidate, the campaign, the people. But this was always something else. Harry was always something else.

They’re going to announce Harry’s victory soon, but the local newscasters on the projection screen at the front of the ballroom are putting on their best faces, pretending it’s still a race. It’s sweet, but also unnecessary.

Liam comes to find him, hands him a flute of champagne, and they clink.

“We’re pretty good at this, you and me,” Louis says and it’s true. Liam worked with him far beyond the scope of his position at the DNC, spent as many hours as Louis did once Louis coopted him to write all of Harry’s speeches. He fell in easily with Louis, understood Harry’s voice like no one else. Louis would never explicitly admit it, but Louis suspects the only reason they’re both really here is because of him.

“I think we are,” Liam agrees.

“You looking for a job?”

Liam raises an eyebrow at him. “You offering one?”

“Might be,” Louis says. He needs a right hand man, someone he can trust, more than just on a campaign-by-campaign level.

Liam smiles and looks out at their kingdom. Louis looks back out too, not sure he’s really looking for anything until he finds Harry in the crowd easily. He supposes he’s always looking for Harry these days, but then he’s struck with a realization. The campaign’s over. He doesn’t have any reason to see him every hour of every day.

That’s the nature of his business, that’s why he doesn’t get attached. He comes in, he does his job, he gets the win, he moves onto the next. The thought of the day after the election isn’t supposed to tug uncomfortably at Louis’ stomach the way it does tonight.

Harry, like he can sense Louis’ eyes, looks up to him and waves him down.

“I am being summoned,” Louis says. It’s the last time Harry’ll do that.

“Better not keep the king waiting,” Liam says, so Louis doesn’t.

Harry excuses himself as soon as he sees Louis is coming for him, slides his way through a gaggle of volunteers wishing him congratulations. He smiles and says all the right things so no one feels slighted, but Louis knows he’s got his sights set on him.

Louis holds his arms out for a hug and Harry clicks in easily, naturally, grabbing firmly at his back like he’s never going to let go. For a minute Louis hopes he won’t.

“Look at us,” he says into Louis ear. “Come a long way from Liam’s front door.”

“Sure have,” Louis says. Then a thought occurs to him and he pulls away to squint up at Harry. “How did you know I was staying there? I’ve always wondered.”

“I’m a very important politician, Louis,” Harry says, straightening his tie and clearing his throat as part of the act. “I know some people who know things.”

“Yeah? You know some people?” Louis laughs.

“I mean. I know Liam.”

Louis squawks indignantly. He immediately takes back everything nice he’s ever said about Liam. “That bastard. He sold me out. I should have known.”

“Well, he’s a hopeless romantic,” Harry says quietly.

Louis’ smile falls a little. “Harry.”

“I know.”

It’s unprofessional. It’d kill Harry’s career. They’ve been lucky so far, nobody’s really pressed him on why he’s single, why he’s not married. Louis instituted a strict policy against speaking about Harry's private life in a move to focus solely on the issues. California’s fairly progressive, but for every Harvey Milk, there’s a Prop 8. And if Harry wants to go all the way, Louis can’t be in the picture. He can’t hold him back.

“I would if I could,” Louis says and he means it.

“I know,” Harry says with a rueful smile.

Louis shakes his head with his own small smile. He’s so damn cocky. “But we can’t.”

“I know. But a guy can dream.”

The newscasters officially call the election at 1.30 in the morning to thunderous applause -- maybe not all over the state, but at least in their ballroom.

Louis turns to Harry, who’s not watching the screen but watching Louis, and he’s got stars in his eyes. He ducks down and kisses Louis, cupping his hand to Louis’ jaw, for just the briefest moment until he pulls away. Louis considers for a moment chasing his lips, licking into Harry’s mouth like there isn’t an inch of it that doesn’t belong to _Louis and Louis only_ , but he doesn’t. He can’t.

“Thank you,” Harry whispers.

“You have to,” Louis starts, shaking his head to clear the daze that’s settled in it. “A speech.”

“Oh yeah,” Harry says with a grin. “I’m a governor.”

“You’re a governor,” Louis confirms dumbly, watching Harry pick his way through the crowd without waiting for a response. He hates himself for it, but he scans the room. Everyone’s too busy celebrating with each other to have an eye on him. The cameras are on the other side the room anticipating Harry’s speech.

They’re risking some two hours later, when it’s closer to day than it is night, and Harry’s got him pressed against the wall outside his hotel room instead of actually _inside_ his hotel room.

“S’a good speech,” Louis half-says, half-kisses into his lips. He’d hit all the good high points -- the prison system, the wage gap, welfare, all of it, fierce and passionate, every inch the deserving governor of the state of California.  Louis wanted to jump him right then.

“Liam’s a talented writer,” Harry says just before he attaches himself to Louis’ neck.

“So fucking proud of you,” Louis says, pulling Harry back to punctuate his words with harsh kisses, biting at Harry’s bottom lip.

Harry pulls back and Louis thinks he might have said the wrong thing. He leans in again, slower, softer, capturing Louis’ lips with something far more tender than they’ve managed so far. Louis sighs into him, doesn’t want to let go, but they can’t move further out in the open. He’s got at least enough sense for that.

Louis doesn’t have a second thought about any of it until it’s just him and Harry alone together with nothing between them and no one to stop them. They stand wrapped in each other in the middle of the room, fingers pressed firmly into each other’s waists, not kissing, not moving, just breathing together, watch each other.

“Why do you want this?” Louis asks.

“Told you I wanted to seduce you, told you the first night,” Harry says.

“Just trying to get into my pants?” Louis laughs.

“At first, yeah. Want so much more than that, now,” Harry says, running a hand down Louis’ chest until he’s cupping him and Louis is gasping. “And I want this because you want this.”

He wishes he were drunker than he actually is, but his head is clear and Harry’s right. He wants this so much.

He walks Harry backwards toward his bed, slowly, using his hands to both push Harry and undress both himself and Harry from their suits at the same time, letting the pieces fall to the floor. He’s seen Harry undressed more times than he can count, changing in and out of suits in green rooms and offices, but it’s the first time he’s really been able to appreciate it, run his fingers over his stomach, trail his lips across his chest. He lays Harry gently down on the bed and moves against him until Harry tells him what he needs.

“Do you have -- y’know -- ”

“Lubricant and a condom?” Harry enunciates very specifically. “If you’re not mature enough to say the words, you’re not mature enough to use them.”

“Shut up,” Louis says, rolling his hips down rougher in punishment. “Also was that a yes?”

“Fuck,” Harry hisses, pressing his fingers harder into Louis’ lower back. “Yes, that’s a yes.”

Louis follows his direction to the place they’re hidden within Harry’s suitcase, the question on his lips answered when he turns around and Harry has already stuck a pillow under himself to prop him up. He’s always very forward-thinking, that’s part of what makes him a good politician.

The face Harry makes when Louis presses a finger into him is more entertaining than it is sexy. His nose scrunches up like it does when he sniffs hard during a cold. His mouth falls open, like a silent scream he's too overwhelmed to let loose. Louis has to kiss him, so he does.

By the time Harry’s gasping for breath and clutching at his back like Louis is destroying him one gentle thrust at a time, absolutely none of it is funny.

“I want this because you’re beautiful,” Harry babbles and it takes Louis a second to remember he’s still answering the question from before. “I want this because I knew you’d be good at it. Because I knew you’d take care of me.” He cuts off with a groan when Louis crooks his fingers the right way. “You’re always taking care of me. Trust you.”

He shudders out a deep breath and tries to work himself faster on Louis’ fingers until Louis’ pressing his hip down with his free hand.

“Slow, slow,” Louis says.

“Why?” Harry breathes, like a whine.

Louis pulls his fingers out, which elicits a much louder whine, and moves up to whisper into Harry’s ear, “Because you’re going to want to remember every second of this.”

Harry’s breath catches, and suddenly it’s all agreement from there. It’s slow kisses and slow thrusts and slow whispers of encouragement. Louis doesn’t tell him it’s because it's the only time they’ll do this, that it’s too risky for Harry’s career to make a habit out of doing… whatever this is. They go slow and Harry is good enough that it really is seared into Louis’ brain in a play by play. Every gasp and groan and shudder of Harry’s is tucked away in Louis’ brain for safekeeping.

He's never really appreciated the length of Harry’s hair until he's able to lace his fingers through it as they're moving together. Sometimes Louis has to squeeze his eyes shut, but when he opens them, Harry’s staring up at him with stars in his eyes. He kisses him so his eyes will drift flutter closed and Louis won’t be reminded how much he wants to see Harry like this over and over and over.

Harry asks him to stay after, as if Louis could go anywhere. He gently cleans Harry up where he's lying boneless on the bed, absolutely useless to Louis, to the world. He nudges at Harry until he rolls over and agrees to fall asleep in Louis’ arms. He doesn't, though, too wired from his win to do more than sit there and soak up their last night together. Until Harry turns around some time later, ready for a round two so intense he does finally drift to sleep.

When he wakes up, Harry’s already awake -- unless he never fell asleep -- and on his phone. He's propped up against the headboard, the duvet pooling lazily around his hips, resting just under the laurels Louis spent a solid fifteen minutes worshipping just a few hours ago.

“Morning, sunshine,” Harry says.

He doesn't want to tell Harry this was a mistake, but it was.

“Morning,” Louis answers and rolls out of bed.

Harry stretches out in the bed and smiles lazily up at Louis. The necessary words sit heavy on Louis' tongue as he gets dressed, but Harry beats him to the punch. "Where you headed next?"

"New Jersey,” Louis answers. “I've got a senate candidate. She's a mess, 23 points down, but she's scrappy."

"You believe in her."

"I don't have to believe in my candidates to campaign for them."

"Yeah, but you believe in them anyway."

Louis turns his head so Harry doesn't see the flush in his cheeks. It could be seen as a weakness in his business, getting attached. He wonders if Harry thinks he's like this with all of his candidates -- not sleeping with them, obviously, but dedicated to a fault. Harry has to know he's always been on a different level. He has to.

“Well. Thanks for coming,” Harry says, pausing for a joke and Louis prepares himself for how awful it will be. “Twice.”

There it is. Louis shakes his head. "You're an embarrassment."

"And the governor of California. That's your fault, you'll have to answer for that when I run the state into the ground."

"You're not going to run the state into the ground."

"Yeah?” Harry asks, and it comes with a smile that suggests he's far more nervous than he lets on. “How do you know?"

"Because I believe in you,” Louis says, like that’s all he should need. “Good luck, Harry."

“Thanks, Lou,” he calls when Louis has his hands on the door. “For everything.”

“Anytime,” Louis says and he means it.

He leaves without the goodbye kiss he really desperately wants because he can't leave the door open for the future.

\---

Louis isn't impressed with his options. He pulls his glasses off and drops them on the dossier for the senator from Wisconsin, who's facing heat for protecting companies that outsource jobs. When Louis asked him why he wanted it, he said it was because he already had it. Louis wasn't impressed, but it's a slow season.

There's a swift knock on Louis’ door, which he doesn't expect. It’s Harry Styles, which he _really_ doesn’t expect.

"Governor," Louis says in shock as Harry brings him in for a quick hug.

"We have to stop meeting like this," Harry jokes.

"What, you coming over to my place uninvited in the middle of the night? You're the only one who can put a stop to that."

"Point taken,” Harry allows with a smile. “We need to talk. May I come in?"

Louis waves him in like an idiot and closes the door quickly behind him.

"It’s very nice to see you. What’s brought you to DC? If you’re here to say you've had my child, Harry, I tell you, you've hidden it quite well over the years," Louis says before realizing how incredibly idiotic he is to bring up the last time he saw Harry. He might as well have said, _remember that time I fucked you and left you in bed almost seven years ago?_

He goes to apologize for sticking his foot firmly in his mouth, but Harry chuckles, a deep, comforting, familiar sound. He presses a hand to Harry's back and leads him into his living room.

He gestures for Harry to have a seat, the offer of tea or coffee on his lips, but Harry turns to him instead and says, "I want to run for president."

Louis pauses. “Oh.” Then it hits him and he has to sit down. “ _Oh_.”

“Yeah.” Harry has the audacity to dimple a smile at him.

“In four years or?”

“Now,” Harry says, settling down on the couch next to Louis, so close their knees touch. It’s such a casual, effortlessly intimate move, and Louis loves it as much as he wants to fight it. “I want to run for the next election.”

Louis blinks at him. “You’re younger than Kennedy.”

“Actually, Kennedy, at age 43, is the youngest person ever _elected_ to be president,” Harry says, working that familiar slow drawl he uses to explain absolute nonsense, “but Teddy Roosevelt, at age 42, was the youngest person to become president when he took office after McKinley was assassinated. I’m also younger than Teddy Roosevelt.”

Louis runs his hands over his face as he struggles to comprehend the situation. “That’s fascinating, sir, yet completely irrelevant. Please never use that in an interview.”

A smile takes over Harry’s face, curving his lips, popping at least one dimple, and putting crinkles by his eyes Louis doesn’t remember seeing so deep before. “So you’re going to do it then.”

“Did I say that?” Louis asks, quirking an eyebrow, though he’s sure he was ready to go the moment Harry showed up at his doorstep. “I’ve never run a presidential campaign before.”

“I know. I’m pretty familiar with your resume,” Harry says. “But there’s no one else I can do this with. And there’s no one else I will do this with.”

That’s a lot of pressure, and Louis nearly teases him about holding Harry’s fate in his hands with the implication that if Louis says no, Harry wouldn’t run for president.

He’s always thought Harry could go all the way. He looks at Harry and sees a presidential candidate, looks and all. But six years and one of the highest offices in politics does a lot to change a person. He’s kept tabs on Harry’s career, but it’s really been ages since they’ve done more than swap hugs and chatter innocently at DNC events before they’re both swept away to do their jobs.

“You cut your hair,” Louis says like he didn't already know. It’s even got a respectable part to it.

“I did, I donated it to charity last year,” Harry says like Louis didn't already know.

“Well, isn't that a positive media opportunity. You probably should have waited until after you announced.”

Harry’s face goes stony. “It wasn't about that.”

“I know,” Louis says, and that’s another test passed. Harry hasn’t changed, not where it counts, he’s sure of it. “Tell me why you want it.”

“There have been 379 gun shootings in our country this year, _so far_ , more than one per day of the year, and there hasn’t even been a glance in the direction of gun control,” Harry says immediately, like he was expecting Louis to ask him to audition. “Defense of this country shouldn’t be solely external when our citizens are more likely to be killed by white males over the age of eighteen -- that’s you and me, by the way -- than they are by foreign terrorists.”

More, more, more, Louis needs more, and Harry is only just amping up. “Why do you want this?”

“There are 8.3 million unemployed adults that need jobs. That’s an unemployment rate of six percent,” Harry says, his voice growing faster in that way it does when he’s got a point to make. “One in ten college graduates come into the workforce $43,000 in debt, with a total of $1.2 trillion dollars in student debt. That’s six percent of the national debt sitting on the shoulders of the youngest and brightest members of our society.”

Louis grins. “Why do you want this?”

“Because I haven’t even touched on one-sixteenth of the issues facing this country. Because this is an imperative. Because I need to try my best to make this country a better place. Because I need to leave us better than I found us. Because I’m the right person for the job.”

That’s the right answer. Louis is going to make him president of the United States.

\--

Harry throws a wrench into Louis’ plan about three months in that Louis never anticipates. He should have figured it was only a matter of time before Harry did something about it, but he had hoped against hope they could get away with it. He wanted to live that fantasy just a while longer.

Harry’s on a talk show, the first of many, discussing his recent decision to run for president, milking his dark horse status for all it’s worth. He’s new, intriguing, young but not inexperienced, innovative but not threatening. He’s basically perfect.

The interviewer asks him about his love life, calling him the most eligible bachelor in America. Harry smiles and hedges all the right ways until she seems to forget she’s even asked about it. He’s a professional, truly, perfectly trained, if Louis may say so himself.

Liam sidles in next to Louis where he stands offstage right as Harry’s making some sort of joke about being married to America.

“About fucking time you showed up,” Louis says. He’d come to Liam a month ago when he and Harry were sure they were finally going to pull the trigger. He’d flown all the way to Sacramento to rescue him from the terrible office job Liam had resigned himself to when he thought he needed to settle down and stop living life on the road. Louis’ never understood it, but he let Liam go anyway. And the second he needed Liam again, Liam came running. Eventually. A month later.

“I couldn’t actually just quit my job and walk out the door,” Liam answers. “I had to sign contracts and take care of my 401k and shit. Get someone to watch the dogs.”

Louis makes a dismissive noise, but doesn’t argue it. At long last it finally looks like things are about to fall into place. They’ll be unstoppable.

He chatters quietly with Liam until the show is over and Harry’s said his goodbyes. He does what he needs to do to charm the interviewers, shakes the hands of a few producers and the cameramen, and heads offstage to them.

“Excellent job, sir,” Liam says.

“Liam,” Harry says warmly. He grabs Liam in a hug, patting him firmly on the back. “Welcome home.”

“Thank you very much,” Liam says. “Good to be home.”

Harry pulls away and turns his smile on Louis. “Louis, can we?” he starts, but he doesn’t have to finish. They picked their shorthand back up so fast it was like they’d never stopped working together.

“Of course, sir.” He directs him into the green room they were waiting in before the show.

Harry keeps the smile on until the door is shut behind him and it’s just him and Louis, and the rest of the world has fallen away. It scares Louis sometimes, how quickly that smile falls. He knows it’s not always the most genuine -- hazards of being a politician -- but Louis is damn good at spotting false smiles. Usually.

“I don’t ever want to do that again,” Harry says.

“A talk show?” Louis laughs. “Tough luck, sir.”

“I don’t want to hide,” Harry amends. “I want to come out.”

“No,” Louis says immediately, so brusquely that Harry’s head snaps over to look at him.

“I don’t think you get to make that choice for me,” Harry says, his tone clipped. He keeps his expression schooled into something neutral because he’s been trained well, but Louis can spot that too.

“I’m your campaign manager. I make every choice for you,” Louis shoots back, and that’s what cracks Harry.

His eyebrows furrow, casting a dark shadow over his features that looks unnatural on him. Louis’ so rarely seen Harry angry, he isn’t keen to make it a habit.

Louis jumps to explain; Harry is nothing if not reasonable, even if he does need to be talked off a ledge sometimes. “We’ve made it a policy to never speak to the press about your personal life, about anything beyond the scope of the office. We’re not going to start now.”

“Maybe we need to change that policy,” Harry says stubbornly.

“They’ll crucify you,” Louis snaps. “The right will come out of the woodwork in droves to accuse you of lying to the entire nation about who you are. We’ll never even make it to the primaries.”

“I’ve never lied,” Harry insists.

“And they’ll say a lie by omission is the same as a lie, sir,” Louis says

“Well. They’re wrong.”

“Oh, _well then_ , stop the presses,” Louis mocks with a flip of his hand, “issue the retractions, Governor Harry Styles says we’re _wrong_.”

“That’s not fair,” Harry bites.

Louis lets loose a cruel bark of laughter at the thought. “And whoever said anything about fair?”

It’s politics, it’s the opposite of fair. It’s nasty. It breaks people on a whim. He can’t see that happen to Harry, he won’t see Harry torn down by bigots or worse. He won’t see him throw away his opportunity over something so inconsequential, considering Harry will never tell anyone anything personal about him as a general rule. He’s hard pressed to even divulge his favorite color.

Louis’ll fight dirty if he has to, in order to save him. "Who have you slept with who'll talk?"

"No one."

"What, so you want to tell everyone you’re a thirty-seven year old virgin? You’re honestly lucky we’ve gotten this far without somebody remembering they’ve slept with you."

Harry doesn't look impressed.

"I'm sorry, sir, but you're not exactly forgettable." Louis knows firsthand and he sees it in the way Harry’s face falls.

“For fuck’s sake, Louis, if you call me sir again,” Harry threatens, his eyes watering with frustration.

“The future of your career at stake, _Harry_ ,” Louis shouts, his face pinching with anger. He doesn’t want to call him by his name. That makes it too intimate, that makes him more than a candidate. That makes him someone Louis is vulnerable about, and they’ve never been able to afford that.

“I’m talking about my life,” Harry growls back.

“We’re talking about your goddamn legacy,” Louis corrects sharply. “If you come out, this is what you’re going to be known for. You’re going not only going to be the gay candidate, you’re going to be the gay presidential candidate that lied. Harry. You won’t win.”

“Then I guess I don’t deserve to win,” Harry says, and that cuts off all of Louis’ arguments.

The last time he said that, he’d changed his mind within the hour. But the vein popping in Harry’s forehead, the redness of his face, the tears in his eyes. There’s no going back from this. Louis falls silent, out of arguments for once in his life. He watches Harry wipe at his eyes and hates that he’s the reason to have put tears there.

“You don’t have a lot of faith in the American people,” Harry says eventually.

“No, I don’t,” Louis answers. He doesn’t trust them, not with all of Harry. Just of the Harry he’ll let them see.

“I do,” Harry says fiercely. “And if you don’t have any faith in them, then you don’t have any faith in me.”

Louis’ cheeks burn in shame. There’s no one he has more faith in than Harry, no one. And if there were anyone he’d believe could do this, could change everyone’s minds, it’d be Harry.

Harry grabs Louis’ hands in his own and rubs his thumbs across the tops of them. It’s quiet and intimate and them.

“Who I love still means nothing to them. They don’t get to have that piece of me,” Harry says. “But I’m not going to hide it, I won’t be ashamed. I won’t set that example, not when I’m on a national platform. Not when I can let someone else know it’s okay to be who you are. You know what this means. I told you I wanted to change the world, Louis.”

“I want you to change the world too,” Louis admits quietly. It’s all he’s ever wanted for him.

Harry squeezes his hands. “Then change it with me,” he says, and that’s all he needs to.

Louis leans up and places a gentle kiss on Harry’s forehead. “Okay, Harry.”

\---

Today has to be perfect. The whole world’s eyes are on them. Harry has to be perfect, at all times, and the second he slips up, they’ll all say they knew he couldn’t do it. Even though they elected him freely and fairly, they’ll all say they knew better than to elect the 21st century president, the young one, the gay one, the one who actually runs his own twitter.

It has to be perfect. Or Louis will actually fall over and die. Then Liam would have to run the country, and where would they be then. Probably still well taken care of, admittedly, but with far less wit than Louis would run the country.

Harry looks irritatingly breathtaking in a designer suit tailored within an inch of its life. Not that you could tell much from underneath the huge winter coat he wears as he walks the parade line down to the Capitol before the ceremony. He watches a television anxiously for the second time today, this one in a random room in the Capitol instead of the comfort of his own office. He elected not to walk in the parade, and he’s glad. It’s snowing pretty steadily, but Harry looks happy as ever, waving cheerfully at the scores of people lined up to just get a glimpse of him.

He’s a damn natural.

Louis switches off the television when Harry gets close enough to the Capitol. He’ll come inside to prepare with the inauguration coordinators and warm up for at least another hour before he’s sworn in. Louis goes to meet him where they bring him in, gets there just in time to see Harry shaking the snow off his perfectly sculpted hair. Louis can’t wait to see him get in trouble for messing that up.

“Good morning, sir,” Louis says as he helps Harry out of his coat and hands it to an aide.

“Good morning, Louis,” Harry says with a grin. “Beautiful day out.”

Louis quirks his eyebrows up and tilts his head in consideration. “It’s fucking miserable, but yes, sir.”

“Are you excited for the inauguration, then?”

“Of course.”

“You should see the joke I had Liam add to the open,” Harry says, awfully proud of himself. “It’s a real winner.”

Louis’ face falls. “Sir, no. No jokes.”

“No, trust me, they’ll love it.” He pats at his breast pocket where Louis knows he keeps the note cards he insists on having in spite of modern technology being a real and true thing that exists in the world.

“Let me see it,” Louis says.

“No.”

“Let me -- ” Louis says and goes for his breast pocket.

“Secret service, please,” he cries as he bats Louis’ hands away, but it’s Alberto and Preston today, and they’re always on Louis’ side. Louis throws a glance back at to them just to make sure they’re not about to shoot him, but they both look on, careful not to look as amused as he is sure they are.

Harry takes that moment to leg it, he goes shooting down the corridor, and Louis and his servicemen launch into a pursuit.

“Mr. President-Elect,” Louis huffs, hot on his heels. “You’re a grown man.”

Harry slides into the first office that’s open and Louis runs in after him. He’s caught just as soon as he passes the threshold, Harry’s arm nearly clotheslines him in its attempt to curl him closer. In an impressively graceful move, Harry’s got the door closed behind them and Louis leaned up against it.

They’re close, closer than they should be. It’d be easy for Louis to lift a little and brush his lips lightly against Harry’s. It would take little effort to pull Harry flush to him. That’s what makes this dangerous.

“Have I thanked you lately?” Harry says quietly.

“Not nearly enough.”

Harry rests a hand gently to his jaw and waits. Louis is weak, so weak for him. He leans forward and lets his eyes fall closed so the press of Harry’s lips is a surprise. Louis kisses him for as long as he dares, until his lips are buzzing and his head is swimming and cloudy with Harry.

He cracks his eyes open slowly when Harry pulls back, even though he’s certain he’ll be devastated by the sight. Harry looks beautiful as always, eyes glassy, lips a thoroughly bitten red.

“I’ll spend the rest of my life chasing after you if you want me to,” he says. “Or you call tell me no and we won’t do this. I’ll never mention it again.”

It’s never been a matter of Louis not wanting Harry -- he’s wanted him every step of the way. It’s just he’s not worth the trouble. Louis isn’t worth the trouble.

“Nothing’s changed, Harry. If anything, it’s worse. I’m your chief of staff. You know what they’ll say.”

“About you? Louis, you have a PhD in Political Science from Northwestern. We would all be calling you Dr. Tomlinson, if we didn’t think you’d be smug about it.” He doesn’t even wince when Louis slaps at his chest in indignation.

“Not about me, I don’t give a shit what they say about me,” Louis says. “You don’t get it. It’s never been about what they’d say of me.” It’s always been Harry, every minute of this has been for Harry.

“Then we don’t tell anyone. I’ve been in love with you for some eight years,” Harry says, waving an impatient hand. “What’s eight more? If I get to have you, what’s eight more?”

“Already planning your reelection?” Louis says, but Harry’s words burn deep within him, _I’ve been in love with you_. He feels it in under his skin, like it’s part of him now, that Harry loves him.

“Well, I’ve got the Kingmaker in my corner,” Harry says with a wry smile. He’s quick to cut in before Louis can say anything further, like he can sense the objection on Louis’ lips. “Lou, if you think you’ve got to protect me, you’re wrong.”

“That’s my job,” Louis objects. His primary mission has always been to protect Harry, to do whatever it takes to make sure Harry succeeds, and to put his own feelings aside as he does it.

“It’s not your job, but I love that you do it anyway,” Harry says. “You take care of me. I just want to return the favor.”

“Why do you want this?” Louis asks.

“Because I love you,” Harry says. That’s all he wants to say, it seems. Louis had almost expected some sort of treatise, a long speech wherein Harry details all of the reasons he’s thought this was a good idea. But it turns out, that one sentence is really all Louis needs.

He kisses Harry again, mostly because he wants to, but also because he can. Because he’ll do whatever he needs to do to make this work, because Harry’s convinced they can have it all. There’s no one Louis has more faith in, there’s no one Louis puts more trust in.

“Why do you want this?” Harry asks just as someone’s knocking on the door to collect the two of them.

“Because I love you too,” Louis says.

It’s an incredible feeling to stand beside Harry as he’s sworn in as President of the United States. It’s an incredible feeling to feel deafened by the roar of the crowd below that supports Harry, trusts Harry, loves Harry -- almost as Louis does. It’s an incredible feeling to dance with him at the first ball, chuckling as Harry tugs him onto the dancefloor for a single song before Louis is claimed by Harry’s mother.

It’s an incredible feeling to be in love and to take advantage of it any time he wants. And it’s an incredible feeling to be loved back.

\----

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you very much for reading! If you need me, I am [here.](http://wickershire.tumblr.com/post/135593284633/title-to-be-a-king-beside-you-rating-explicit)


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